


Monstrosity

by RyMagnatar



Series: Highschool Greaser Punks [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Asshole Cronus, Damara's translations, F/F, F/M, Humanstuck, M/M, cronus is the worst big brother in the history of big brothers, drugs and booze mentioned, greasers in highschool, manipulative Dirk, men in women's lingerie, really i mean mituna's a 2 year old ok, semi pester log stuff, teenage pregnancy mentioned, they're not all the same age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 20:57:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyMagnatar/pseuds/RyMagnatar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You, Cronus Ampora, are living up your golden years. You have your bike, a babe and a best friend. Unfortunately, you have this little brother you could have lived just fine without.</p><p>Fortunately, your best friend has an amusing idea on how to ruin your kid brother's life. The upside is it will only take a week.<br/>The downside, you discover, is that it's going to take a whole week.</p><p>You are Cronus Ampora and your best friend is too ridiculously attractive for his own good and you just might kill someone if it'll get you into bed with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> This whole beast is based off of this [nsfw picture](http://nightewe.tumblr.com/post/34956753240) by my homie. (sadly i wasn't able to keep them as trolls in the story, sigh)

“The fuck is that.”

You flip the end of your brand new golden-orange scarf over your shoulder and smile a broad smile, “Don’t you like it? My baby brother bought it for me as a birthday gift.”

The flash of disgust curls his lip and then vanishes off of his impassive, controlled face. “Oh that’s right. Your brother has absolutely no taste. I had forgotten until now.”

“You’d break his poor hipster heart if he heard you say that,” you laugh, running your fingers over the end of the scarf. For its bright color and stupid needless length it was surprisingly soft to the touch.

Dirk shrugs a shoulder but makes it look like he’s just taking off his leather jacket. “He’s a pussy anyway. I bet I could break his heart with negative effort.”

“How unlike you to defy physics just for a joke.”

“Who said it was a joke?” He’s hanging up his jacket and doing a quick check of himself in the mirror. You smirk from behind him because you’re totally rubbing off on this asshole. Out comes a comb from your pocket and you run it through the hair on the side of your head. You felt a lock out of place you had to fix. Dirk turns back around, hands tucked into his pockets and his hip leaning against his locker. “Kid’s single isn’t he?”

You bark out in laughter, “Ever heard of the term, Forever Alone? Baby bro personifies it.”

He lifts his chin in that way that you know is him thinking. You take the two steps that you need to close the distance and lean in, “Dude, you’re not thinkin’…”

Up this close, you can see his eyes through his shades. He gives you a quick wink and says, “A week or less.”

“Shit,” you breathe out. Your heart is pounding in your chest. He’s such a monumental asshole. And your little douche of a brother deserves it for this snotty little gift you had to wear to ‘make him happy’ and for all the other shit he pulled on you at home. “You’d do it.”

“I got time,” he replies and leans in, dropping his voice in that way that just makes you want to fuck him into his locker. One day you swear you will. Maybe on the last day of school, so you could literally go out with a bang. “This a free for all on the little baby’s feelings or should we make things a little more difficult?”

You lick your lips. “One: You’ve got one week. Two: You need photographic proof that you’ve got him wrapped around your dick. Three: You have to manage to get him to give you some super symbolic shit to you or something. Four: I gotta see the heartbreak as it happens, lurking in the bushes, whatever, it’s cool as long as I get first hand visual.”

Dirk considers this with a little nod. Then he asks, “Fucking in or out?”

“In,” you reply. “If all else fails at least he won’t be a virgin by the end of the week.”

He snorts in amusement and holds out his hand, “Deal.”

You clasp it and shake.

* * *

By the end of the school day, you’ve almost forgotten about the plan. It’s Dirk’s deal anyway, even if you were a main instigator. So when Eridan comes up to you at your locker after the last bell, you look smugly at him, pretending your scarf isn’t itching your neck. “Hey kid.”

He looks down, rubbing the back of his head, and mumbles something into his own obscenely colored scarf.

You flick him in the forehead, “C’mon bud, if you want me to hear you, don’t go chatting into that rag around your skinny neck.”

He flushes and looks up, “I wanted to ask you about, uh, your friend Dirk.”

You blink and a flare of jealous hatred burns right through your chest. Woah. Where the fuck did that come from? You slam your locker closed a little too hard and it makes Eridan jump. “What the fuck do you want to know about him?”

“Is he..” Eridan mumbles into his scarf again. You sigh in annoyance and flick him in the forehead again.

Yelping, he rubs the spot and glares at you. “I just want to know if he’s a good guy or something! He asked me out tonight!”

Your mouth is open to tell him you and Dirk have plans tonight, you have plans _every_ night with Dirk that he was available. That was part of the bro code you two forged after all, but then you remember. Oh fuck do you remember. So you grin instead and sling your arm around Eridan’s shoulders, bringing him in for a close little chatter. You feel him grow tense under your arm but give no fucks. “Dirk is the finest fucker in the world,” you say in a near whisper. “Seriously, he’s like the best kind of bro to pop it on.”

“Pop it…” Eridan stares at you, wide eyes and dark cheeks of embarrassment. “Pop what?”

“Your little cherry, baby bro.”

Eridan squeaks and tries to get out from under your arm. You let him worm away. He clutches his shoulder bag thing with both of his hands and nearly shouts, “I am _not_ interested in that with him!”

“Uh huh,” You say in total disbelief. “So did you say yes or no?”

He looks away, “I said I’d think about it.”

You step over and put your arm around his shoulders again, this time leading him down the hallway. He follows you with little resistance. It’s time to get out of school anyway. “You should just say yes. Dirk is the kind of guy who always gets what he wants, even if you set out to deny him anything and everything, that little shit gets it. So say yes and enjoy a nice date with the hottest guy in the school and I won’t tell Mom or Dad that you went over to that Lalonde girl’s house and got shitfaced.”

“You wouldn’t,” He tries to give you a glare, “They’d find out that you drove me over there!”

“Yeah. But I can live with them giving me shit, unlike you, sweet little princeling~” That makes him turn red all the way up to his ears. You thank God your mom has such an amusing nickname for your kid brother.

“Fine. Fine I’ll go out with him tonight. But I’ve got a test to study for so it won’t even be that long anyway.” He huffs. You ruffle his hair, make him shout and abandon him on the sidewalk. “Have fun little bro, I’ve got a chick to go see.”

“Wait, you won’t give me a ride home?” He hurries after you, “I can’t ride the bus!”

“Are you still avoiding that horse dude?” Eridan mumbles something that’s probably a yes and you roll your eyes. “Dude. Find a ride. Maybe Dirk will give you one and  you can give him your answer.” You look out over to where your bike is, and where Dirks is right next to it and grin. “Speak of the devil.”

You don’t know how the fuck Dirk does it, but he’s straddling his bike with his helmet under one arm with the sun gleaming behind him and looking like a rocking Greek god. Having already added “Dirk’s bike” to your list of places of where to fuck him, you just stand and stare at him with a growing boner. Eridan shuffles past you, walking up to him with his little scarf flapping in the wind.

You want to rip off the yellow one on your neck, a mockery of your affection of Dirk, and choke someone with it. Instead you walk up to your bike and bring it to life with a roar. You drive off as Eridan tentatively climbs on behind Dirk, putting the helmet over his stupid little head and his stupid arms around Dirk’s perfect waist.

* * *

It’s just after midnight. You are getting out of the shower and heading to bed when you hear that familiar ping of your text messages. Dropping the towel on the floor, you flop naked onto your bed and check the message.

TT: Your brother is shit at kissing.  
TT: But he’s a decent learner.  
TT: Also he’s fucking adorable when he falls asleep, check it.

There’s an image attached to the last message and you open it with a quick touch of your thumb.

It’s a picture of your little brother, that’s for sure. He’s curled up against the side of who you can only think is Dirk. His glasses are off and in his hand and his shirt is pulled up off his hip.

TT: I’m bringing him back home now.  You’ll help me sneak him into his bed, right?

You send Dirk a quick affirming message and lay in your bed, frustrated. Why the fuck did you agree to this? It was only succeeding in making you hate Eridan all the more. About twenty minutes pass of your fraternal hatred party before there’s the tick-tick sound of pebbles on your window. You go over and open it up.

Like out of some messed up teen love story, Dirk is standing on your lawn with a half asleep Eridan leaning against his shoulder. You’re filled with sheer anger at seeing the way he clings to Dirk’s shirt with one hand, the leather jack you never see on anyone but your best bro draped around his shoulders. “I’ll go unlock the back door, just give me a sec.” You leave the window and go to put on some boxers. You need a little distance before you go and beat the shit out of someone.

At the back door, in the dark, you’re greeted with a more awake Eridan and Dirk. Eridan slips in past you and is half way through the kitchen before he stops and starts pulling off the coat. “Hey man, it’s cool,” Dirk says, “Just bring it back to me at school tomorrow.”

Eridan nods, blushing, and begins heading off again. He hesitates, again, and then rushes back to Dirk to take his hand. Right in front of your fucking face, Eridan kisses Dirk lightly on the lips and thanks him for the date. Then he’s scurrying off up the stairs to his bedroom like a good little mouse.

You look to Dirk and he gives you a smirk. He tips his chin in the way that lets you know he’s looking all the way up and all the way down and you can’t help but feel proud that he’s checking you out. “How’d it go,” you ask because you don’t want him to leave, just yet.

“Easy. Your brother’s desperate. Once he got into the swing of things, I could have plucked his sweet little fruit and he would have thanked me for it.” Dirk turns to go, “But the delay will make it all the sweeter. See you tomorrow, Cronus.”

You open your mouth to say something, anything, maybe to call this off because you really did feel like you could go up and kill your brother for getting so close to Dirk like that, but all you say is, “Later, Dirk.” He lifts his hand in a little salute and then walks out. You close and lock the door behind him before going back upstairs to your own room.

While you were away, the cold night air filled your room up and you shiver badly as you walk in. “Shit,” you close the door and then drop down onto your bed again.

Your head hits a box, small and taped shut, on your pillow. You sit up and frown on it. “The fuck?” The tape tears easily and you flip the lid off to the side. There’s a card in the top.

_I’m going to need you to have this later, so just keep ahold of it for me. Under your bed should do nicely.  
>Dirk_

With more than a little confusion, you pull back the tissue paper. It was a lingerie set. Garters, fishnets, and even little laced panties. “The actual fuck,” you breathe out in utter confusion. Why would he need you to hold onto this? What the hell kind of plan had he come up with this time?

You swear its only curiosity that gets you holding it up to your hips, wondering if it would fit. When it looks like they might, you shrug out of your boxers and try on the panties alone. For a minute, you sit in them on your bed, just kind of… staring down at yourself.

Things go a little sideways in your head when you start thinking about how Dirk must have packaged this for you, and therefore knew the size of your body, and even better than that, had his hands on this cloth before.

Sashaying just a little, you get up and close the window. Then you climb back into bed. So you had to hold onto these for him…. That didn’t mean you couldn’t _use_ them.


	2. Tuesday

It’s unnerving when Eridan follows you over to your locker. You’ve got the scarf on again, because if nothing else Eridan gave you a funny look when he saw you putting it on. He lights up when he sees Dirk there at his own locker and rushes past you. “Dirk,” he waves.

Dirk turns and _smiles_. Actually smiles. You stop dead in your tracks and resist the urge to snarl. Eridan runs up to him, wriggling all over like a puppy, and gives Dirk back his jacket. You watch as Dirk takes it back and _leans in and kisses him_. Right in the damn hallway.

You have to turn and look away. At the end of this week, it was going to be a miracle if you didn’t strangle your brother. Dirk sends Eridan on his way soon, though, with a pat to the ass that you didn’t need to see. Your brother looks like he’s fucking walking on air as he skips past.

You stomp to your locker and open it with a stream of curses under your breath. Dirk lets you stew for a while before poking his head around the door of your locker and says, “We’re going out again tonight. You’ll get better pictures this time.”

Closing your eyes, you fight down your scathing words and turn a brittle smile to him. “Sure. Great. You’re pretty damn good at this.”

He gives you this weird look over his glasses and says with a tone thick with smug attitude, “I am good at planning. And this one practically made itself.” He leans back, “I just had to give it a nudge in the right place.” Dirk pulls out a few books, mostly upper level math stuff and twirls a pencil in his hand. “Things are going a little quickly, but we should be on schedule for the party this weekend.”

“Party?” You ask.

“The Makara’s. It’s their weekly little get together. That’s where Eridan and I will be, y’know, making him a man.” Dirk closes his locker, “I’m even thinking about telling our delightful hosts in case they want to bake him a congratulatory pie.”

You grip the door of your locker and stare straight ahead. Fuck. They were going to fuck. Shit. You couldn’t let that happen. Your brother couldn’t land Dirk before you!

“Hey man,” he taps your shoulder and jars you from your thoughts. “Give me your comb.”

“What?” You question, but you hand it over automatically. He takes it and rakes the comb through your hair.

“You had some strands out of place. You feeling all right? Did you sleep okay?”

You shift on your feet. Your gut twists and churns and you know, from the way the corner of his lip is turned up and that too innocent tone that he knows what you did. “Sure I did. What was with that package anyway?”

Dirk pats your shoulder and gives you back the comb, “Part of the plan. It’ll all make sense later. Anyway, I gotta jet. Later.”

“Seeya.” You watch his ass as he walks down the hallway.

You wonder what kind of panties and garter set he would look best in. Then you curse yourself because now you have to deal with too tight pants in class.

* * *

This time the notification comes when you’re eating dinner, or rather right after you swoop in, get a bowl of your dad’s ‘famous’ gumbo that Mom hates and then get the hell out of there. He and mom are having their silent ‘we are not fighting of course not’ nights and the tension could kill a scottie dog. You go out to the garage to tinker with your old man’s old beat up Cadillac, sitting on the trunk with the bowl in one hand and the other with your phone.

TT: Photographic proof of him wrapped around my dick coming your way.

You nearly choke. Your hand shakes a little as you tap accept and watch the picture download.

“Shiiit.” You didn’t think that Dirk would take your words so fucking _literally_. You never thought you’d see this kind of image, this kind of expression on your brother’s face. You also never thought that the first time you really got a good steady look of Dirk’s dick would be a text picture sent to you on a Tuesday evening.

But there it was, Eridan’s mouth on Dirk’s dick, his hand holding the base and his too fucking blue eyes staring up at the camera.

You have to put down your bowl of food and rub your eyes. “Shit.” You curse over and over. You look at the picture again and curse louder.

Then you get another message. And another.

Your gut churns as you open them. They’re just photos in progression. Wherever Dirk and Eridan are, this blowjob was happening right now, in real time. You groan and have to grind your heel down against your own hardening cock. You knew you should not be getting off on this, but it was less about what Eridan was doing and more about you now had photos of Dirk’s cock right on your phone. Right where you could see them whenever you wanted, wherever you wanted. You want to call and tell him to give up on Eridan and get over here right the fuck now but you can’t.

You can’t because he was planning shit with Eridan and it wasn’t going to last anyway.

The last picture comes with a single line of text.

TT: His eagerness to please makes up for his inexperience.

The picture is Eridan, open mouthed, close eyed Eridan with Dirk’s cock resting against his bottom lip and the gleaming white of his cum over Eridan’s cheek and glasses.

Hissing, you jump off the car, gumbo forgotten, and hurry back inside and to the bathroom. You were going to send Dirk the most insulting texts you could think of as soon as your cock stopped throbbing with each heartbeat.


	3. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't figured it out by now, Cronus has a pretty bad mouth on him. It only gets worse from here.

In the morning, Eridan’s downstairs in the kitchen with shadows under his eyes and a hickey on his neck. As you walk past him to get a bowl of cereal, you flick the mark with your finger. He yelps and covers it with his hand. “The fuck was that for Cro?”

“Becoming a man, baby bro?” You sneer at him. If you could pour your Wheaties any angrier, you would. “Should I start baking you a cake in congratulations of you finally getting laid?”

“Fuck you,” Eridan growls at you, fixing his scarf prissily around his neck. “I would never touch any cake you made. I’d probably get food poisoning.”

“I’ll just get a Crocker cake, though that sweet little girl might wonder why I’m getting ‘congratulations on getting fucked’ in bright fucking purple on the top. Do you want rainbow confetti on the inside to finish your celebration of entering your manhood in the gayest way possible or would you rather me just stick with red velvet for your bloody shit?”

Eridan pales and gags. He pushes his cereal away, half eaten. “Thanks, asshole. I think I’m not hungry anymore.”

You grin at him, “You’re going to have to get used to the idea, dude. Having a gay old time isn’t all glitter and rainbows. Sometimes you just end up with a raw bloody ass.”

“How do you end up with a raw bloody ass?” Dad comes walking in, dressed for work with his hair slicked back like a boss and looking sharp in his black suit.

“Eridan’s got a gay lover,” you reply quickly. These are going to be the best Wheaties in the damn world. You pour in the milk and take a big bite. Talking around it you say, “I’m just warning him about a prolapsed anus.”

“Cro!” Eridan shrieks like a kicked cat. “That’s fuckin’ gross!”

You give him a wicked smirk. Your dad wrinkles his nose as he pours himself coffee into a thermos. “Sounds like your mother needs to have the talk with our little boy here before he gets himself pregnant.”

Like the devil summoned by a mentioning of his name, in walks your mom. She swishes in her little blue skirt and pats Eridan on the head like a puppy, “Don’t worry baby, anal prolapse is not fatal and typically happens to the elderly.” She goes to the coffee next and out comes her sugar sweet smile, “Honey, would you mind refilling the pot after you pour yourself the last cup?”

“If I had the time, dear, you know that I would,” he grunts back. “But I’m late for work and those cars don’t sell themselves. He tucks the paper under his arm and heads for the door. “Get that boy some condoms, Aranea, he doesn’t need to have pissing problems along with all the rest of his issues.”

With that, he’s out the front door. You munch on your cereal utterly gleeful. Mom mutters to herself for a while she toasts a bagel and prepares another cup of coffee. She makes a little extra, so after she’s made her cup, you pour yourself one as well. She gives you a hard look but doesn’t argue with you. Instead she sits down at the table and says, “Eridan, finish your breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” he says back. He’s rummaging through the fridge for the sandwich Mom always makes the night before. He puts it into a little paper bag for his lunch.

“Eat it anyway,” she commands.

“Mom, really, I’m not hungry.”

This makes her look up and it’s like she can’t even see the fact that he’s packing himself up a lunch. “Son, are you having eating issues again?”

Eridan straightens like someone put ice down his pants, “Mom! I told you, that was because of the tooth thing!”

She frowns. It’s her classic ‘I don’t believe you and I know you better than anyone’ look. You turn your back on her so you can safely roll your eyes without being caught in the crossfire. Eridan’s face is pinch and it’s completely unattractive. You wish it would stay that way so Dirk would just laugh in his face. “Mhm, of course dear. So finish your breakfast and then go get your bag. I’ll be taking you to school today.”

He goes back to the table, poking at his bowl and turning his cereal to mush. You chug down the rest of your drink, slurp the last of the milk from your bowl and drop it into the sink. “I’m heading out now, Mom.”

“Say goodbye to your brother,” for a moment you think she means you but she’s giving Eridan that ‘Do it now’ look and he mumbles out something halfheartedly.

“Later duckass,” you say, grabbing up the brown paper bag and heading out, ignoring his protests.

Out on the driveway sits your pretty little Babygirl and your Dad’s truck with him inside.

You drop the bag into the side pouch on your motorcycle and zip up your jacket. You give your dad a little salute. He’s parked in the drive way, drinking his coffee in the cab and reading the paper. He won’t be heading out for a while yet.

Starting your Babygirl up, you let her cruise down the driveway past your dad and then rev her up as you hit the pavement. A little driving was surely going to clear your head a bit.

* * *

Lunch rolls around and you head out to your regular table out in the yard. There’s Dirk, sitting on the table with that weird little plastic lunch box beside him and there, fuck it all, was Eridan, sitting beside him on the bench, giving him doe eyes and a sappy little smile. Your stomach churns and you look around. He had to be doing this on purpose. They both had to be. There was no fucking way Dirk would act like that, share his lunch with Eridan the way he was without it being a big fucking joke.

You knew, you _knew,_ that it was all a game to fuck with Eridan, but Dirk glances up to you with that smirk like he knows exactly what he’s doing to _you_. You turn around, to look for some way to fuck with him right back.

Your eyes settle on that spindly little kid you can barely believe is related to your beautiful Dirk. He’s pale like him, but the flooding of freckles across his cheeks makes him looks like a sickly kid. He wore rounded shades and sat hunched over with a camera beside him at a table of kids that he sat on the outside of.

If Dirk was going to mess with you—

“Oi, Cronus,” Dirk calls you over before you can decide on anything. You go over and sit down on the table beside Dirk. Sitting like this, Eridan looks like your bitch too, on the bench, picking at a sandwich and not looking at you. He shifts closer to Dirk’s legs.

Dirk leans up into your space and hisses, “Exactly what the fuck were you thinking over there, buddy?”

You shrug your shoulder and lean back out of his space. You dig around into your pockets and pull out a cigarette box. “What the fuck are you thinking over here?”

He grabs the side of your jacket collar and continues in that soft but intense tone, “You keep your eye on the ball here, Cronus. I don’t want to catch you fucking things up with some loser kid.”

“Yeah, like you are?”

He shoves you back and puts that same hand on Eridan’s shoulder, squeezing it. “You’re the only one who thinks he’s a loser, you know.”

The look of adoration Eridan gives Dirk makes you have to swallow some bile. Choking it down, you get up from the table, “Fuck this. I’m going to go eat somewhere else.” You grab your bag and with the unlit cigarette hanging out of the corner of your mouth you head out to the parking lot to go sit on your bike and eat.

After you finish the mediocre sandwich, and still feeling hungry, you ignite Babygirl’s engine and roar out of the parking lot. You’ve had just about enough of their googly eyes for one fucking day.

* * *

The radio is on, playing out some good rock and roll tunes while you get your fingers greasy and a sweat on your brow. Nothing is as good as tinkering with the Cadillac on an afternoon with no nagging mother, whining brother or snarky father hounding your ass. The near mindless fiddling was giving you time to think about things. There was a problem with this game Dirk was playing. It was affecting you in ways you hadn’t expected, ways that it shouldn’t be. It was only three days in and while you had always been pissed at Eridan, you didn’t actively want to kill him all the time.

And what was that business, looking out at Dirk’s bro? There was no point in trying to fuck with him. That was just a death sentence on steroids, what with not only Dirk but their fucking insane guardian Bro. You’d be buried under the cement sidewalks in front of their apartment in under a week.

Oh but you want to. You want to…

You want to what. To fuck that kid? You had no interest in him. He wasn’t Dirk. He wasn’t your type. Too skinny. Too soft handed. Too weird. He was dangerous. Trouble. Then why? Why did you want to even try? Why did you want to get mixed up with him? That wasn’t like you at all.

You had your bike, the car, your guitar, Dirk and the occasional thing with Damara or Roxy. That was all that you needed in your life. So why this need to fuck with the younger Strider? He was nothing to you. Nothing at all.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so thoughtful Cronus.”

There’s the finest jean covered ass leaning against the front of your car. Dirk’s got his arms folded across his chest and his leather jacket shining in the light of your garage. He’s got a half smile on his lips, that smug little twist of the lips that you want to kiss. Your reflection is in his glasses.

“Got a lot on my mind.”

You see yourself in his glasses. You’ve got grease on your face.

“I saw you had a photographer on your mind.” He leaned forward, towards you, into your space. “I’m a little curious if you’re still thinking about him or not?”

You glance down to those lips. You want to kiss him to shut him up. You look down to the engine to stop looking at his face. “As if a stick like that could get it up for me. Man I don’t know how you do it with Eridan.”

“I could care less about what he looks like,” Dirk says, “it’s all about the sucking power.” He laughs and you join him in it.

“So I guess a photographer could suck just as well as a little hipster douche.” You meant it as a joke but suddenly you have Dirk’s hand at your throat and he’s sneering in your face.

“Cronus, I get that you don’t give a fuck about your brother, but assuming the same about mine is going to get you fucked up. Royally.” He’s squeezing your throat. You can’t breathe. He turns your face up and all you can see is your pale face in his glasses. “I never thought you’d be so brain dead to need this spelled out for you, but if you fuck with my brother, you’re in a world of pain that begins with me beating your ass and ends with Bro burying it.”

You’re getting light headed. You reach up a shaking hand to put over his. His hand tightens on you to resist your touch, but you don’t try to pull his hand away. His hand. You’d always wanted an excuse to touch his hand. His knuckles were always so scarred up. Strifing he said. You just wanted to touch them, to kiss them.

Everything gets a little fuzzy, from sight to sound to your tiny gasps for breath. Everything’s fuzzy except for the sharp edges of his cut fingernails against your skin and the roughness of his knuckles under your fingertips. You know for an absolute certainty that you wouldn’t let anyone else hold you like this. You know it so deep you can feel it aching in your marrow.

You smile.

Suddenly the pressure is gone. You suck in a bitter, cold breath and it makes you cough. Turning away so you don’t cough on him, you bend over with one hand holding onto the side of the car. Dirk’s arm is warm across your shoulders as he leans in and whispers, “Don’t let it get to your head, Cronus. We’re halfway through the week. The plan was to fuck with Eridan, remember? It won’t do if you lose your cool.”

Then he’s gone, just a lingering smell of cologne and crescent shaped marks on your throat.

And one massive hard on in your pants.

* * *

Dirk stays for dinner.

Your mood has been restored since the brief talk in the garage, so when Dirk invites himself to stay for dinner, you urge it to be accepted by your father. He ultimately shrugs, shakes Dirk’s hand and welcomes him. Mother gives him question after question, all of which he answers with an ease you would be jealous of if you didn’t think you could do the same if your roles were reversed.

Dirk sits between you and Eridan and all during the meal you catch little bits of movement out of the corner of your eye. You decide this dinner you’ll be extra kind to your kid brother and not humiliate him in front of Dirk and your parents. He looked like he was struggling enough as it was. His face kept turning red, each time Dirk turned slightly in his direction.

More than once you saw that perfect hand slip under the table and disappear in Eridan’s direction. One time Dirk makes Eridan jerk so violently that he knocks over his cup. You laugh, to draw attention away from him, as he flushes so dark you think he’s doing an imitation of a over ripe strawberry. He mumbles an apology but instead of getting up, sits there like stone. You lean forward to toss over some napkins and see that pale hand moving in Eridan’s lap.

Dirk shows no expression. He just watches as Eridan’s hands shake while he mops up the spilled water.

As dinner dies down, Mother apologizes, “I’m so sorry we don’t have a dessert for you. We didn’t expect company tonight.”

Dirk nods, “Don’t worry about it Mrs. Ampora. I don’t have much a sweet tooth.”

“Still, if I had had some warning,” she looks sternly at Eridan now, “I could have whipped up a little something or even picked up something from the Crocker’s bakery.”

Father grunts, “Not another one of those shitty cakes. The icing is awful.”

Mother gives that little frown that makes her forehead wrinkle. You lean an elbow on the table to watch them bicker, but really keep glancing out of the corner of your eye to Dirk. He looks good in profile. “I keep telling you its fondant. It’s a special type of sugar used for decorating, you’re not really supposed to eat it.”

“Why the fuck put anything on a cake that you can’t eat?”

Eridan’s ears are turning red and he’s begun biting his lip hard enough to turn it white. He keeps fidgeting in his chair. Dirk’s hardly hiding that he’s got his hand on Eridan’s lap. He has that lazy, amused smile like he just doesn’t give a fuck. You wish his other hand was in your lap instead of propping up his chin.

“It’s for decorative purposes. You can’t turn cake into a work of art with just any old icing.” Mother waves her spoon at Father.

“So my food is decoration now? They should just stick to icing like everyone else, they’d do better with their sales I bet.”

“I was talking with that lovely Jane girl –really Eridan, she’s the type you should be bringing over, no offense Dirk but you are a little old for him, aren’t you?—,” Mother turns her head from Dirk to your father quickly, hardly taking a breath to do so, “and she was telling me that her business was doing so well that they are looking to hire. Eridan,” her attention swiveled again, right past you from Father to Eridan, just as it always did. “You really should look into getting a job there, you just waste your evenings cooped up in your room all the time reading those silly books. Not that reading is bad, mind you, but there are only so many books you can read about the crusades before you know all there is to know.”

“Woman,” your father interrupts her, standing up, “Shut your yammering for a damn second and let a man get a word in edgewise! You’re teaching our boys to swallow their tongues. How will they ever get any respect if his woman doesn’t even give him a chance to breathe?”

She waves her spoon at him, “Maybe he’d command a little more respect if he called people by their name instead of their gender!”

Your father makes a disgusted noise, “I’m getting a beer. You boy’s want one?”

Mother gasps, “Honey, don’t you dare! These boys are far too young to be drinking anything alcoholic!”

You and Dirk exchange glances. That amused smile of his deepens. Your father grumbles and stomps off to the kitchen. Mother stands, “Excuse me, boys, but I need to have a word with your father.” She rushes off into the kitchen after him.

The three of you sit in silence for a moment before Eridan outright moans. You tense and glance over. He’s shaking all over and in the near silence you can hear the sound of fabric rustling. Dirk leans back, just a little, so you can see his hand has made its way into Eridan’s pants.

“W-we sh-shouldn’t be doin’ this r-right here,” Eridan whimpers. He suddenly arched his back. You wonder what on earth Dirk just did to him. You want him to do it to you.

“Is there a problem, Eridan?” Dirk’s voice is so cool, so bored. “You didn’t seem to mind when your parents were here. I thought it would be simpler for you with them gone.”

“B-but Cronus…”

Dirk turns his head, slowly, towards you. Orange eyes look over his glasses at you. He smiles, “Cronus won’t say anything about this, now will he?”

It takes you longer than you’d care to admit for you to regain control of your mind and tongue. “Say what now?”

“Exactly.”

You expect Dirk to turn his gaze back to Eridan, but he doesn’t. He just keeps watching you with his hand down Eridan’s pants. You can see your brother twitching and moaning beyond Dirk, but it’s just peripheral vision. You’re focused on Dirk. Focused on those orange eyes and his pink lips, slightly wet from a little lick of his tongue. He stares you down while he gives your brother a handjob and fuck it makes you hotter under the collar than if you had gone for a run in the desert.

With a muffled cry, Eridan comes without warning. Both of his hands are clamped down over his mouth and he’s still shuddering when Dirk turns to look back at him. He pulls his hand out of Eridan’s pants and cleans it off on a napkin. “Let’s get you into the shower, hm?” Dirk says as he pushes back his chair. You can see the hardness of his cock pressing against the front of his pants. “We’ll clean you up and you can return the favor.”

Eridan moves slowly in his post-orgasm state. He lets Dirk pull him to his feet and then walk him out of the dining room. You sit back in your chair and let out a heavy sigh.

You add another tally to the mental list of Boner Gifts from Dirk.

* * *

A text in pink bubblegum is the only reason you would come out here.

This house is fucking creepy.

It’s on top of a hill that’s swathed in black trees and black grasses in the middle of the night. The house itself rose high up at the top, a throwback to the Victorian era or something. It has fucking spires at the top and a wrought iron fence.

And gargoyles. There are gargoyles on the fucking roof and everything. Fucking nuts.

You drive up the road, coast up through the open gate and to the front steps. Once your engine’s off, the silence of the forest sinks in around you like a heavy blanket. You pull up the collar of your jacket and make your way up the grey steps. Your knocking on the door sounds loud and deep. After some time, it pulls open to reveal a wisp of a girl, thin as bone and as pale as it.

She looks at you with flat purple eyes. Not quite like your little brother’s, but pale and milky. Even her dress is drained of color. She takes one sweeping look of you and says, “Roxy’s in her room, up the stairs and to your right. Turn left and I will feed you to the Elder gods.”

“Do ya gotta warn me about that every time I show up? Jesus, you’re fucking creepy.” You step past her and into the house. It’s tastefully decorated, if swaths of purple, skulls on stands and a fucking tapestry with what looks like some sort of undersea wizard squid battle was your kind of thing. Up the stairs and to the right you go.

There’s music playing, you can hear it through the door. You knock and the music dims a little. You hear stumbling and a little swearing and the clinking of glass. The door pops open and bright light and color flows out of that little opening. Roxy doesn’t even blink before she opens the door wide.

In classic Roxy style, she’s wearing a loose tank top and a pair of panties with a paw print on the front of them and in her hand glints a mostly empty martini glass. Slim legs and wide hips, God, she’s pretty. She puts her arms around your neck, martini and all, and draws you into her bedroom of bright colors and kittens.

“Hey pussycat,” you kick the door shut behind you, “Now what’s this you were saying about needing me around?”

“Oh honey,” she drinks, holding the glass over your shoulder. “My kitten really needs some attention.”

You laugh as she slides one hand down your front. You walk her back towards her bed as she pulls open the front of your pants. You pull her close around the hips and work your fingers down under her panties.

She falls back onto the bed, sliding out of the slip of cloth while she does. You toss it over your shoulder and lean in to kiss her hot mouth while she finishes working off your pants.

* * *

Roxy slinks out of bed to turn the music down low and to pour herself a drink. Her shirt hangs off her shoulder and that shows a nice little red mark you made on her lightly tanned skin.

You roll over and grab your jacket up from its spot on the bedpost. You pull out your lighter and cigarettes and after a couple of clicks, you take a sweet, long drag. She comes back over to the bed, her skin smooth and bright, reflecting the pink sheets of her bed. You give her a smoke and light it for her. She takes in a long breath, her red smudged lips puckering around the stick. God, you like to see those lips tight around anything.

She switches her glass over to the hand with the cigarette in it and pulls out the bottle from under her arm. You take that gladly and drink from it.

“Oh honey,” she says, “you sure as fuck know how to knock one back don’t you?” She giggles and wrinkles her little nose.

The liquor sloshes in the bottle as you lower it. “Reminds me how my mother told my father not to get me a beer last night. Well. Dirk and I.”

She slides into place on the bed beside you. Her legs arch over yours, smooth creamy skin against your thigh. “You got Dirky to stay for dinner? Ohhh so lucky!” She giggles. It’s cute. Everything about her is cute, from her painted tiny toes, the blonde curls of hair between her legs and the soft edge of shoulder hanging out of the top of her shirt. She’s so damn cute. You wonder why you can’t be satisfied with just her.

“Yeah, he invited himself to stay,” for Eridan. He stayed for Eridan. He was your friend but the first time he came over for dinner was for Eridan.  Your little brother was a bastard, stealing Dirk’s firsts from you. “Mom was charmed.”

“That’s a first,” she says. “Mother took one look at him and then turned to me and said if I got pregnant with his child she was going to use it for spell experimentation for it would be a demon child. He just called her mom and hugged her. You should have seen the look on mummy’s face.” The double mom use throws you of for a second but then you remember that Roxy was one of those kids raised by lesbian lovers.

The kind of kid your mother frowned about but let you play with in the park under her watchful eye, like it would rub off on you. Whatever the fuck it was. “Laughter or anger?”

“Laughing her head off. But Mother was as icy as I’ve ever seen her.” Roxy’s lipstick leaves red on the glass, red on her cigarette but no red on her teeth as she smiles at you. “Rose took an instant dislike for him too, but she is always Mother’s miniature in everything.” She’s still smiling but her tone is sour.

“Little brothers and sisters, right?” You scoff, “More like little shits.”

Roxy giggles and clinks her glass to your bottle. “Baby, you know it!”

The two of you laugh together until she’s asking for seconds on her drink and you’re letting her pour herself some more while you tap ash from your cigarette. You’re quiet, watching her drink, watching her breathe, watching her exist right next to you when you ask, finally, “Roxy, have you ever had your heart broken?”

She takes a long drag and lets the smoke escape her mouth like a ghostly soul. “Yeah. I have.”

You’re not sure where you were going with this, so you take a swig from the bottle instead of talk. She’s quiet for a minute or two before she sighs and shakes her head. She brushes her hair out of her face with her pinky. “His name was Jake. Two years older than Dirky and I, and he was built like a truck.”

You vaguely remember him. “Quarterback, right?”

“Uh huh. Nice shoulders, nice legs, fantastic fucking hands and you shoulda heard the stories the girls would tell about his cock. Some boy in the locker room was paid forty bucks to get a picture of it. I still have a copy somewhere,” She waves her hand around the cluttered mess that is her room. She has dozens of pictures, tacked to the wall and taped to her mirror. But you’ve never seen her with a camera. “But he had it bad for that Jane girl, you know the baker? Swore up, down and sideways that she was the only girl for him. Janey couldn’t stand the attention that got her though. I mean she loved him to bits too. We all did back then, but she was just head over heels for him. But because we all knew he liked her we all knew who she was. Poor girl, all she wanted was a nice boyfriend and a good kitchen. Instead she got half the girls hating her and half the boys wondering if she was a good lay.”

She goes quiet for a while, frowning, looking off across her room and not seeing you. “Then there was that party. Janey shoulda never been in a place like that alone. When Jake found her that night, you know, torn up like she was… well… I never seen him so mad before in all my life. At the end of it all there was blood everywhere and he had crazy wild eyes. Seeing the cops put him into the back of the car and Janey into the ambulance, sobbing like she was, well… I knew he’d never love me like he loved her. Ain’t no one he loved like he loved Janey and now she can only go see him every couple months or so.” She finishes her drink and whispers, “It’s a shame.”

You got no clue what the fuck to say. You had heard shit went down, remembered the articles about the quarterback who beat a kid nearly to death. You hadn’t cared though. You were working up to get your bike. Your life was greased hair and guitars, not parties. Not yet.

You feel a little sick to your stomach. Roxy inches a little closer to you and leans her head on your shoulder. You put an arm around her hips and hold her tighter than you would have before. “And no one since?”

“No one’s like Jake,” she mumbles automatically, “Well his kid sister’s like him, but I don’t like her like I liked him.” Her fingertips clink against her glass, “Janey’s got a kid brother who reminds me an awful lot of Jake. But he’s just a little kid, same age as Rosie. He’d never like me neither.”

“You know I like you, Roxy,” you feel like you should say that, you have to say that. It is true. You do like her. More than you like Damara, and Damara was into some pretty funky shit you enjoyed. Roxy was good for this sitting and touching gently and being comfortable, though, in a way Damara wasn’t.

“Yeah I know,” her breath is so soft. “But you don’t love me.”

You don’t know what to say to that. 


	4. Thursday

You play hooky with Roxy until lunch the next day, long enough for her to get your clothes washed and dried to wear to class. She fits nice on the back of your bike, her hands around your middle. A comfortable warmth against your back and a nice smell when you turn your head to hear something she’s saying. You park your babygirl and Roxy bounces off with a flourish of skirt and scarf that makes you ache a little in your groin.

In the back of your mind, you wonder again why you couldn’t just be happy with her. She was better for you than anyone. And then you follow her from the parking lot to the outdoor area where kids have swarmed to eat their lunches and you see Dirk.

Dirk perched on a table with his jacket on, his hair spiked back and his shade covered eyes taking in the world. He has Eridan like a pet dog at his knee, petting him like a fucking dog and your groin flares up in a way Roxy can never make it do, not just by sitting there.

She gives you a peck to the cheek and vanishes away somewhere, leaving you to walk up to your best friend and bastard brother alone. You tuck your hands in your pockets and stride up to them. “Hey fuckers.”

Dirk gives a soft chuckle and leans back, “You’ve got quite the glow about you. Let me guess. Three?”

“Right again.” You hop up onto the table beside him. God, it’s good to sit and survey like him, to be his fucking equal. You can see how Eridan isn’t, the big eyed pup sitting at the master’s knee. So fucking clueless. Yeah, a night with Roxy has calmed you the fuck right down.

“Three what?” Eridan’s blinking irritates you, but only because he’s so clueless.

“Three rounds,” you reply, holding up three fingers. “Roxy Lalonde puts out.”

He gets it in a second and his face turns so damn red that even Dirk smiles a little in amusement. You just laugh at him.

“I wondered where you went last night…” he mumbles, ducking his head down.

“Big bro was getting laid,” You lift your hand for a fist bump. Dirk complies.

“Eridan and I were talking about that last night,” he says.

Your brother squeaks and jerks his head up, “Dirk! Don’t say that to him!”

“Why not? Cronus is my best friend. And you’re his brother. I should probably tell him I’m talking you into letting me fuck you, right?” The blatancy of his words makes Eridan cover his red face with his hands.  “Maybe he wants to give you some advice, Eridan.” Dirk twists his words like a knife that makes Eridan’s shoulders twitch.

You laugh again, “I’ll buy you two some lube on as a little gift, hm?”

“Oh my god this isn’t happening,” Eridan says several times, each time deeper into his hands and scarf.

You grin to Dirk. He smirks to you. He’s got a light in his eyes that you can see because of how close you’re sitting with him. This was just too damn perfect. It could only be better if Dirk kissed you right now.

Damn. You want to sigh like some stupid heroine out of a fucking romantic movie. You have it so bad for him.

Roxy saw it and even you can see it now. You inch closer to Dirk and he doesn’t edge away. When you put your hand down on the table between you and him, you arrange it so your hands are touching. Dirk doesn’t pull away. Your heart flips in your chest.

You can’t wait for this week to be over.

* * *

After classes, Dirk and Eridan stand at Dirk’s locker. If you could call it just standing. Dirk’s got Eridan pinned to the metal, swapping spit with an intensity that makes you equal parts turned on because Dirk and disgusted because Eridan. Today, though, it seems like you’re not the only one who has to witness this abomination.

Dirk’s little brother comes slinking down the hallway, backpack hanging off one shoulder and round glasses reflecting the world. Unlike Dirk’s, you got no clue how to see the eyes behind these shades. He turns his head towards you, then turns it towards the oblivious pair and then turns back to you. “This a common thing?”

You check your watch, “Since Monday.”

Kid’s silent for a while and then he drops his backpack with a loud thump. You see Eridan jerk a little but Dirk keeps his attention. Then Dave slams his hand into the locker next to them. Eridan jumps like a startled cat but Dirk just lifts his head and gives a lazy lick of the lips. They’re shining with saliva. The scales tip in the favor of attraction and you know you’re going to have a boner if this keeps up.

“I need a ride home,” Dave gets right to the point.

“Something wrong with the bus?” Dirk hasn’t let go of Eridan, who stands against the locker with his face growing more and more red by the second. He can’t even manage to look up from the floor.

“Yeah.” Dave replies. “So can I get a ride?”

“Sure.” Dirk peels away from Eridan, leaving him bereft, standing against the locker and twisting the end of his scarf in his hands. “C’mon.”

“Dirk, wait!” Your brother finds his voice at the worst fucking time. The two Striders stop their walk back down the hall, Dave having scooped up his backpack along the way, and turn to give two shaded stares to Eridan. Eridan swallows and clears his throat, “You were going to give me a ride home. . .” his voice gives out under the silence.

One Strider stare was often enough to silence anyone, but two was basically the end all be all. You’re moderately impressed that he managed to actually say anything at all and not melt into a puddle of piss on the floor.

“Sorry,” Dirk says, not sorry at all. “Bros before hoes.” He turns away again.

Dave stares a little longer, like he’s thinking something. What he does next surprises you. He doesn’t follow Dirk’s lead. He pulls on Dirk’s arm. “I can walk home. You said you’d take him home, so take him home.”

You’re shocked. Dirk looks a little shocked too, but Eridan has it the worst. He looks as though God Himself dropped out of the fucking sky to say hello. Round eyes and open mouth and he’s still as a hunted deer. Now that was accurate.

“Dave,” Dirk’s got warning in his tone.

Suddenly a way to save this comes to mind. “If it’s such a problem, I’ll take Dave and you take Eridan. Then everyone’s got a ride.” Dirk flicks a frown at you but Dave nods. Eridan gives a little breathy sound that you take as affirmation. Kid can’t stand two Striders at once, huh?

You straighten your jacket and head down the hall. Eridan’s frozen in place, but begins to move as Dave calls his name and gestures for him to follow. Your brother is uncharacteristically quiet and meek as he follows the three of you down the hall. Dirk emanates annoyance from every sharp edge of his posture but Dave moves languidly, like he just doesn’t give a shit.

Striders. You’ll never quite understand them, but fuck all if they weren’t pretty to watch in your ignorance.

* * *

The Strider apartments are a piece of work. The good kind of work. They’re in the downtown of your little town, and look like a sleek little collection of buildings. Everything’s just a bit too nice for a little too cheap. More than once you’ve shown up here to find a couple of fat old men sitting around a barbeque with a couple of beers complaining, loudly, about the latest football this or baseball that. It’s highclass white trash.

Dirk’s only explanation for it was “For the irony.”

The upside to a nice set of apartments was the fact that their home was about fifty times cooler and nicer than yours. The downside was that their infamous, director Bro was always out working. Well, that was an upside of sorts too.

Eridan doesn’t ogle anything but Dirk and Dave so you figure he’s been brought here recently enough. That didn’t mean there wasn’t plenty to ogle.

Swords and puppets and bits of robots, photos on the walls organized by color or theme or whatever the fuck they’re organized by, a movie collection that some would kill for and a flat screen imbedded into the fucking wall; the first time you saw it you asked Dirk how the hell he ever made himself leave his apartment. He’d smiled.

Dave goes straight to the kitchen when the four of you arrive. Eridan drifts after him like a lost puppy. Dirk walks off to the bathroom and you head to the living room. Different games look equally interesting and disinteresting to you right now, and all ideas of playing sound bad because you’d have to deal with Eridan’s melodrama.

After poking around at the videos, you look up at the sound of laughter.

Dirk’s coming out of the bathroom, adjusting his shirt, and looks to you. “Sounds like our brothers get along.”

“Good for them.”

“Want a beer?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

He laughs, short and soft, and you follow him into the kitchen.

Eridan’s leaning against the counter, Dave’s sitting on it and they’re both holding a bottle of apple juice. Dave leans down into Eridan’s space, and they’re talking about what sounds very much like the use of color in photography. Eridan glances up when you two walk into the room, gives a tiny smile to Dirk, but goes back to talking with Dave in a moment.

Dirk hands you an open bottle. “I’ve been working on that AI program if you want to take a look, or we could best them at Mario Kart.” He jerks a thumb towards the kids. You laugh.

“Show me the robot.”

His workroom is littered with pieces of scrap metal, but you know from previous visits that everything was perfectly organized. To Dirk, this whole room was set up just as he liked it. He walked right up to the end of a table, where a computer was wired up to a small robotic bird. There was some download bar on the screen, but Dirk picks up the robot anyway and flicks it on. “Tengu, wake up now.”

There’s a soft whirring noise and the bird’s head bobs. The metal coverings over its eyes roll back and expose two beady red eyes. “Yes?” The voice is nearly human and sounds an awful lot like-

“Is that Morgan Freeman.”

“Do you have an issue with my voice, son?”

Dirk smirked. “That’s the talking voice. Tengu is a mocking bird, though. He’s downloading some of the more complex melodies now, but he’s got the basic ones down.”

“He does? Go on the bird, sing something.”

The bird fluttered its mechanical feathers and then cocked its head to the side. It opened its mouth and out came the song, “ _Well since my baby left me, well, I found a new place to dwell, well it’s down at the end of a lonely street at heartbreak hotel, where I’ll be. And I’ll be so lonely, baby, well I’ll be so lonely. I’ll be so lonely I could die.”_ The bird bobbed his head up and down. The music, the voice, it was perfect. A perfect replica of Elvis Presley.

Dirk waved his hand and Tengu went silent. “So?”

“It’s brilliant.” You reply. What else are you supposed to say? “You’re a genius with these robots, Dirk.” _Take me on the table right now, Dirk._ “I mean how the fuck did you even get those wings to flutter like real feathers?” _Or on the floor if you don’t want to deal with the table._ You lean in. “The level of detail is insane.” _I just want to feel your hands on me and also your mouth and your cock, c’mon buddy, whaddya say?_

Tengu tilts its perfectly crafted head towards you as you reach out a finger to gently touch it. Dirk was a man of many talents and you were a man who wanted to experience them all. Bent over like this, you get a good look of Dirk’s abdomen, the gleaming polish of his belt and those hips that drive you mad. He bends in close too, turning the robots head with a fingertip to the beak and showing you the feathers in better detail. “I used a softer metal alloy for the feathery part, but a hard metal rod right up the middle there for support.”

You glance to his face.

This close you can see the orange of his eyes behind the glasses. He’s not smiling, no expression, but those eyes are hiding just enough, just enough that you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

If only Eridan wasn’t fucking here…

As if you summoned his voice with just a though, you suddenly hear Eridan shouting, “No. No you don’t fuckin’ get it and you don’t get to fuckin’ tell me how it is because you’re wrong. You’re absolutely fuckin’ wrong.”

Dirk straightens quickly and heads to the door. You can do nothing but sigh and follow him, checking out his ass a little.

In the kitchen you find Eridan standing with his hands balled into fists facing Dave who looks like he hasn’t moved an inch. He’s shouting again, “Shut the fuck up. Just shut up. You’re lyin to me and I won’t fuckin’ stand for it anymore.”

He whirls around and jerks back half a step when he sees the two of you standing on the other side of the room. There’s a moment of silence and then Dave drops down from the counter. He walks past Eridan and stops right in front of Dirk. They stare each other down, with only a difference of a few inches in height. Even you hold your breath, watching.

Finally, Dave speaks. “You’re not going to like how this one ends, Dirk.” Then he shoves past, hitting shoulder to shoulder. Dave curls his lip in disgust at you and you give him a racy wink in reply. Then he’s gone out of the kitchen towards his room.

Distracted by Dave, you miss seeing whatever happens between Eridan and Dirk, but you do turn back in time to see Eridan heading out the front door. Dirk runs his hand through his hair and then turns to you. “Who knew, man?”

“Hm?”

“My baby bro.” he says, shaking his head. “You don’t see it?”

You’re at a loss. You shrug a shoulder, putting your hands in your pockets.

Dirk smiles, “Well, it doesn’t really matter now. Let me go console the pussy and you set up a game, okay?” He pats your arm, squeezes it a little.

Instinctively, you lean in. To your surprise, Dirk does too. He’s a few inches from your face before he stops. That smile is still on his lips, a light, secretive thing. You smirk back at him. “Don’t you have someone to do, Dirk?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “A couple in fact. But we’ll go with the little one this time.” He squeezes your shoulder again and slips past you.

You sigh and run a comb through your hair. Two days. You had two days left of this.

* * *

It’s after dark and you’ve opened your bedroom window. You’re hanging out of it, looking out down the yellow lit street and smoking in peace. You’ve got Presley playing quietly in your room, singing Heartbreak Hotel and you can’t stop thinking about Dirk or his little robot bird or how close his face had been to yours.

There’s a light knock at your bedroom door. You turn and look to see Eridan. He’s standing with his fingers twisted together, half hidden behind the door and in a matching shirt and pant set of pajamas. They have little paw prints on them and look a couple inches too short in the ankles. You’re at peace and he’s looking appropriately meek so you grin, “What do you want?”

“I…I couldn’t sleep.”

You roll your eyes. Only he would go to bed this early. “And that’s my problem how?”

His lips twist in a frown and he still doesn’t look up, “It’s about what Dave said.”

That grabs your attention. “Come in. Let’s talk.”

He comes shuffling inside, closing the door behind himself. You gesture him over and he comes to stand by the window with you. He shivers and folds his arms tightly over his chest. “What did he tell you?”

“That Dirk… Dirk’s playing me.” Eridan doesn’t look up at you. “That it’s all some game to…to fuck me an then break my heart.”

You take a slow drag to gather your thoughts. “Do you believe him?”

“I don’t know,” Eridan whispers. “Maybe? I don’t want to. I want to believe Dirk.”

“And what is he telling you?”

Eridan’s cheeks darken. “Dirk says…that he loves me. Really loves me.”

You have to take another drag at that. Two days, you remind yourself. Two days. “So believe him. What has he got to gain by lying to you kid?”

He looks up at you with a glare that almost makes you step back. Almost. “I don’t know what anyone gets for lyin’ to me, but that doesn’t stop them from doin’ it, does it?”

He has a point.  You shake your head and let out the smoke between your lips. “Kid, I ain’t going to tell you which one is right or which one is wrong. I don’t know. Striders are fucking impossible to figure out. Even if you think you know what they’re thinking, you don’t. They got plots under plots, twists and plans all around. You’re not going to just be able to figure it out because you want to.”

“Dave isn’t like that,” He says defensively. “He doesn’t plot shit about people.”

“So you believe him over your boyfriend?”

“I,” Eridan turns away from you completely, but you see the red of his ears. “I didn’t say that.”

Suddenly what Dirk said earlier that day makes sense to you. Except it didn’t because… “You like him.”

“W-what?” He twists around but there isn’t shock on his face. Just guilt. He looks away shiftily.

“Fucking hell, you like Dave.” You want to laugh yourself sick. “You want to believe him because you want his cock don’t you.”

“Not everything is about cocks, Cro!” Eridan practically shrieks. But he’s so red in the face that you do in fact laugh at him. You laugh and laugh until he shoves at you and you drop your cigarette out the window by accident.

You punch him in the shoulder in retaliation. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself, Eridan.” You grab the front of his shirt and draw him up close, “And stop being such a cocktease to my best friend. Either you’re with him or you aren’t, kid, and if you are then you got some duties to be doing and respect to be paying him. He’s a better man than you’ll ever be so if you want to be worth anything at all you better do whatever you have to do to keep ahold of him. And forget that douche of his little brother.” You sneer up close to his face, enjoying the way he couldn’t look you in the eyes, “Take it from me, all little brothers are pieces of shit.”

You shove him back, “Now get the fuck out of here.”

Rubbing his shoulder, Eridan hurries away. He stops at the doorway, hesitant, looking over his shoulder at you. You glare at him, “Yeah?”

The look in his eyes gives you the shivers. It’s hard and unreadable. He stares at you like he can see something you can’t, but the moment you take a step towards him, he scurries away like a spooked mouse.

You mutter curses to yourself and dig out another cigarette. Your good mood has been ruined.


	5. Friday

You can tell something is up the moment chemistry class starts and Dirk’s missing. There were only two reasons, sans hospitalization, why he would miss this class and they were both sitting in the back of the classroom, one chewing pink bubblegum and the other reading one of her trashy “graphic novels”.

Dirk shows up twenty minutes until the end of class, but the teacher’s got his back to the classroom so he slips into his seat beside you without notice. You can’t help but notice he comes strutting in with a smile on his lips and a full on swagger. When he slips into his seat next to you, he leans back in his chair and actually sighs.

“Where were you?”

The smile only grows broader, “Having my first slice of a cherry pie.”

You swallow and fight for control of yourself. You succeed. “What? Already?”

He sits forward, elbows on the desk, and picks up your pen. He starts doodling on your page as he talks, not looking up at you, “I don’t know what you said to him but you should have warned me, bro. I would have brought my truck today if I had known. As it was we had to make do with the bleachers.”

Your mind whirls. But what about… “Then what’s going to happen at the party?”

Dirk’s quiet for a while, the pen looping in circles and arches on your notebook. “Well, we’ll do it again. Maybe bring in Damara or Roxy to teach him a few things. He’s a virgin through and through but he’s got talent.” Dirk glances up at you. You can see something _weird_ in his orange eyes. It makes your heart clench tight in your chest. “I’m afraid I’ve changed my mind about the game. I’ve just gotten him wrapped around my finger, I can’t cut him loose just yet.”

“What?” You grab him by the front of his shirt. You can’t believe he would do this. “What? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Cronus.”

You look up to see Mr. Renegade scowling at the two of you, his arms folded over his chest. “Sir?”

“Do you have a problem with Mr. Strider?”

“No sir.” Yes, sir, you do. He’s fucked your brother and plans on continuing to do so. You can hear the tapping of your teacher’s shoe.

“Are we _going_ to have any problems?”

“No sir.” Yes, sir, you are. You are going to figure out what the fuck happened between him and Eridan and you are going to fix it.

“Good. Mr. Strider, please see me after class for your detention. Tardiness comes with more consequences than simply missing the lesson.”

Dirk just nods.

After Mr. Renegade turns back around towards the blackboard, you lean over and hiss to Dirk, “We aren’t done talking about this.”

Dirk just nods again.

You sit impatiently through the rest of class, bouncing your leg up and down. You’re too upset to pay attention, to the lesson or to Dirk. You swear in gratitude when the bell finally rings. You’re shoving your papers back into your notebook when Dirk’s doodles catch your attention.

Swirls of little hearts surrounding one large heart cover the entire margin of an otherwise incoherent page of notes. Dirk’s shitty private code prevents you from reading most of his messages, but not this one. Not the one in the heart. Not the disgustingly girlie initials in the heart, _E &D_.

You crumple the page up with your fist and throw it into the trash can on your way out of the classroom. But even as you stalk out into the hallway, you can feel the image of the heart burning in the back of your mind.

* * *

It turns out that Eridan is looking for you too. You’re heading down the hallway when he runs up to you, red in the face and slightly out of breath. He grabs your arm. “Cro! I’m so fuckin’ glad to see you.”

He looks up at you with wide eyes, hopeful and moist like a heroine from one of your mother’s old movies. He clutches your arm tightly, “You gotta take me home.”

“Take you home?” You shake off his hand. “It’s the middle of the day. Don’t you have your stupid theater class to go to later?”

“What? No. I stopped takin’ that class two years ago.” He shakes his head but steps closer to you again, even as you step back. “Look, just take me home. Please.”

“Why should I?”

“Because it’s the decent thing to do!” He looks around, biting his lip and then whispers, “Because it’s what a brother would do. Cronus, I just want to go home.”

“Then walk,” you sneer at him, “It’s not that far. You’ve done it before.”

Eridan glances down. You see his throat move like he’s swallowing several times. “Cro,” he says softly, “Please. Just this once.”

“Yeah,” you say, pulling your comb out of your pocket and sweeping it through your hair. The growing look of hope on his face is priceless. “I’m still going to have to say no to that.”

“Why.” Eridan’s looking down again, “Why can’t you just once be the big brother I need instead of this huge fuckin’ asshole. I just want to go home. I can’t be here anymore. You don’t know what they’re sayin’ about me.”

“Oh I can imagine.” You have heard plenty of whisperings in the hallway as you looked for Eridan. There was only one loser you could imagine being found behind the bleachers struggling to get his pants on. “Kid, it’s not my war to fight. You got yourself into this, you get yourself out.”

“I don’t want you to fight my war,” Eridan lifts a hand to his face, “I just want your help with this one battle.”

His shoulders shake. You hear a wet sniffling noise. “Are you…” You duck your head down and get a good look of Eridan crying. Actually crying. “Hell.” You rub the back of your neck. You look around, embarrassed as hell to be seen with him crying in front of you. There’s a distant whitegold head of hair in the hall nearby. Salvation. “Roxy!”

Bright eyes look up and a smile follows. She comes over and throws her arms around your neck, giving you a cherry chapstick kiss to the cheek. “Hey honey!” She smells good and feels good against your side. “What’s up?”

Eridan’s sniffling more now, rubbing his hand across his face. Roxy pulls herself away from you and curls her hands around his face, lifting it up. “Oh poor baby.”

“Roxy,” you say while she pats Eridan’s face and he stares up at her like a drowning rat. “Can you take care of him? His issues are a lot more in your skill set than mine.” You take a step back from the two of them. Roxy’s already petting his hair back and asking him all sorts of gentle, soft questions. He’s smiling just a little bit now, but there are still tears on his face. “Have you got this?” You ask before she gets too lost in her mothering.

“Honey,” Roxy says over her shoulder, “Mama’s got everything taken care of.” She lets go of Eridan’s face and takes his hands. “Come with me, Sweetie.” She leads him away. Damara is standing a few feet away and gives you a little smirk and wink as Roxy brings Eridan over.

Eridan doesn’t even glance back at you as the girls walk him off down the hall. At least you didn’t have to deal with a weepy little idiot brother anymore.

* * *

You’re up to your elbows in grease again when the door behind you slams shut. Frustrated, angry, you look up with a line of curses on your lips and stop. Dirk comes down the steps from inside your house. Shirtless. You can’t even- Your mouth is- Your cock just-

He’s got a paper bag in hand.

You can’t take your eyes of the way his jeans hang low on his hips. “Hey man,” his voice is right there, startles you out of your worship of his body. He’s not wearing his glasses either.

“The fuck are you doing here like that?” you wave a wrench at him, gesturing from pants to face. “Where did your clothes go?”

“Upstairs, with the kid,” he holds out the bag and you hold out your other hand. “He told me your parents were headed out for the night for their date thing and so I swung out to get some dinner before I came over.”

You open the bag and reach in. The burger is cold, but it’s from Dirk and you’re half starved, having not eaten a thing since lunch. Putting down the wrench you dig out the foil covered burger and bite into it. Dirk just leans against the car with his thumb in his belt loop and too much bare skin. You’re salivating and it’s not for a cheese covered patty.

He pulls out his phone and is poking at it with his thumb as you eat the food. You crumple up the foil you used to hold the burger and dump it back in the bag when he leans in and holds out his phone. “See, I can’t just give up something like this.”

The moment you look up, you regret it. It’s photos of Eridan again. This time he’s wearing Dirk’s shirt and goddamn it. You really could have done without ever seeing your little brother’s ass wrapped in orange little panties. And tights. You swallow heavily. “Is that- Are those garters.”

Dirk winks, “Look at it, he shaved his fucking legs. I think Roxy taught him that part. The rest of his bits he also took care of.”

“Shit, I do not need to know what he’s got shaved, Dirk”

He laughs, “Damara showed him that part. Hell of a good idea to send him off to them. He’ll be in a skirt before we know it.”

“A skirt-,”

But he interrupts you by flipping the picture to another one and showing it to you. “Here’s a better shot of his side. Check it.”

You can’t help it. You look. Most of Eridan’s face is cut off, just his bottom lip being bitten by his flat little teeth. He’s got his shirt up with one hand and his hips arched forward. The underwear is pulled tight over the bulge of his cock. And those stockings. You had no idea your brother’s legs were so damn nice. What the hell.  

You lick your lips, “You know you’re showing his picture to me like you used to show Damara’s underwear shots to me, right.” You look up and in his face, no, in his _eyes_ you get a glimmer of _Now you get it._

But you don’t. You don’t get it at all. All you get is that Dirk’s fucking your brother, running around in your house half-dressed and getting you dinner. You’re confused as fuck and it’s not helping your boner any.

He pulls the phone away. “You deserve a steak dinner for this though. I mean seriously. Whatever the hell you told him the other day; you got him taking off his pants for me twice in a day. I haven’t had anything that easy since Roxy.” He flips through a couple more images but this time doesn’t share them with you. “So I owe you, a real steak dinner.” He leans in closer.

“A real steak dinner.” You repeat, “This whole thing was your idea.”

“True.”

“And now you’re the one who’s going to continue things with him too.”

A little smile flicks across his features. “That isn’t a problem though, is it? There’s no reason for me not to be fucking your brother, is there?”

The silence stretches out. And out. And out. “No.” You finally say with a leaden weight for a tongue, “No, no issue.”

“Good.” He checks his phone for the time and then says, “Well. Since there’s no problem with it, I’m going to go fuck him into his mattress again. See you later.”

Just like that he slips away and you’re left holding a bag with a hamburger wrapper and an awkward boner. The steak dinner sounds nice, but fucking _his_ ass into your mattress sounds even better.

“Shit. _Shit._ ”

Something had to be done. They couldn’t stay together.

* * *

The sun sets. You get hungry again. Hungry and angry from too long in the garage, too long thinking about Eridan and Dirk just upstairs, too long thinking about your chance to change how things were and your complete failure in telling Dirk just why he shouldn’t be doing that; too long thinking about how your brother can just reach out and touch Dirk whenever he wants to.

The kitchen is dark and you like it that way. You reach into the fridge, bringing in the only light, and pull out a beer. You’ll find real food in a second but you  can’t yet. Not yet. Not when dinner for some bizarre reason reminds you about Dirk.

As you drink you realize you never heard his bike or truck roar into life in the last few hours. He’s still here, still upstairs. Still with Eridan. You curse and throw the bottle against the wall. It shatters, an explosion of liquid and glass that doesn’t really make you feel any better.

The light flicks on in the next instant and in the doorway stands Eridan. He’s wearing shorts, shorts that hang down off his hips and he’s still in Dirk’s shirt. You see a large red mark on his neck. It glistens wetly in the light.

You turn to look at him, staring at him, staring him down. He’s not wearing his glasses so he squints a little at you and then to the mess. “The fuck are you looking at?” you snap, taking a step towards him.

 He takes a half step back. He looks down and then looks back up again and shakes his head. His hands become fists at his sides and he says, “You should clean that up soon. The smell will be all over and the glass will be a fuckin’ bitch to clean up if you ignore it. Plus what’ll Mom think if you just fuckin’ show her that you’re drinkin’ instead of doin’ it in your round about way you been doin’ for months now.”

He folds his arms tightly over his chest as if that’s all he needs to said, as if you really give a fuck about the broken bottle or what your mother thinks. “She can go fuck herself.” You say, “And you can too.”

The smug little bastard smirks at you and says, “Nah. I’d rather fuck my hot boyfriend.”

You can’t breathe.

Your heart clenches in your test and a fiery hatred bleeds into your gut. You’ve just been shot with his stupid, smug little words and you are going to _hurt_ him for it. You come surging forward and grab him by the front of his shirt. Eridan’s eyes widen but he doesn’t shrink from your gaze. He’s got his confidence back.

You blame Dirk for that. There’s no one else who could have done it so well.

“You don’t even fucking see it, do you kid.” You can’t stand him.  You can’t stand this bet. What the hell was the point of it anyway? You were supposed to hurt Eridan, not to get hurt yourself. You weren’t supposed to be the one who lost control. “He’s fucking you for sport.”

Something flickers in Eridan’s eyes. He glances downwards.

“That’s right,” you sneer, “you’re his latest little slut. Don’t look so fucking surprised. You think I didn’t hear what they called you? Caught you with your pants down behind the bleachers? Oh if only everyone knew you had signed up to be one of Dirk’s whores.”

“I’m not a whore. And I’m not Dirks!”

“Really.” You shove him back, push his chest with the palm of your hand, “If you don’t belong to Dirk then why do you look like you do?”

“I don’t!” Eridan sticks out his chin defiantly. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

You flick that hickey again, harder than you did yesterday morning, and sneer down at him, “You’re wearing his shirt, covered in his little love bites and I saw the orange underwear.”

Eridan’s eyes grow so wide. You never knew they could be so huge. He staggers back a step and shakes his head, “No. What?”

“Oh yeah.” You continue, “That’s what he does with his whores, you know, he takes pictures of them and shows them to me. You think you’re special? You’re just a trophy, Eridan. You’re just another little whore in the rough that Dirk’s taking his sweet time polishing up.”

“You’re lying.” He keeps shaking his head, like that will change the truth at all. “He loves me. He said so. He even did this.” He pulls up his shirt and shows you a heart drawn on his side, in sharpie. Those two initials are glaring at you again, bleeding ink on his ribcage.

The anger coils and writhes inside of you like a slick eel and before you know it, you’re sliding your foot back and making a fist. Your hand collides with his ribs and you hear an honest to god crack. Eridan makes a gasping, pain filled noise and staggers back. He leans up against the wall and looks at you with real fear in his eyes. Fear and incomprehension. For a heartbeat, you regret what you’ve done, but then you hear footsteps coming up behind Eridan and you remember why this all started.

You turn on your heel and walk the opposite direction, out of the kitchen, out of the house entirely, before Dirk makes it to the kitchen. You haven’t hit your brother so outright in years. Your parents had finally had enough of your violence and Dad had whipped you with his belt until you finally fucking got it.

And it was all for Dirk, your asshole best friend whom you wanted- whom you _loved_ \- you just cracked your brother’s rib.

Your bike roars into life and you grimly tell yourself that you would do it again in a heartbeat.

You would do anything when it came to Dirk.

* * *

When you get home, the sun’s coming up. You’re chilled to the bone from the night wind and too tired to be angry anymore. The kitchen is empty, and cleaned up, and you’re not surprised. At the very least, your parents did it, since you saw your father’s car out in the driveway.

Your limbs are heavy but you go to take a shower anyway. The water is hot and the room fills with steam. You lean your forehead against the tile and sigh, heavily. You almost miss the squeaking of hinges but you don’t miss the way the curtain of the shower slides open. For one horrified, gut wrenching moment you thought it was Eridan.

Instead you’re looking at Dirk. He gives a little sigh, “You really fucked him up, Cronus.”

You look away. You’re fucking naked and he’s standing there in Eridan’s too small pajama bottoms staring at you. “I’m not sorry. I’d do it again in the same situation.”

“I know,” he says. You glance at him. He’s smiling that all-knowing smile and watching your face. You almost prefer him with his glasses on. “He was almost convinced that I wanted him as a whore.”

Snorting, you reach for the shampoo. If he’s going to stand there and talk to you, getting wet from the fine spray of water, well you weren’t going to stop him or waste the water. You work the soap into your hair. “I’m still convinced that you do.”

“You don’t think I’m capable of real love?” Dirk gives a little gasp. “You’re as cruel as Damara.”

“No one is as cruel as that bitch,” you reply, “And you’re perfectly capable of real love. Getting a little virgin assed kid to parade around in pretty colored panties and your shirt isn’t love. It’s you marking your territory. It’s you showing him who’s boss.”

Dirk’s silent for a while. You tip your head back and let the water run don your skull and back. You can already feel the pomade washing away. “Interesting,” Dirk murmurs.

“You’re going to have to explain to me what you were doing in chemistry, doodling little hearts on the page. Eridan and Dirk? You’re going off script, man.”

The rings holding up the curtain rattle as he pulls it back into place. “The only script I’m off of is the one in your head. Everything’s going perfectly for me.”

“You’re fucking with me,” you call as you hear the door open, “And I don’t like it.”

He laughs and the door shuts, cutting him off.

You lean your head against the tile again and let out a heavy breath. Sometimes you really fucking wondered how the two of you stayed friends at all when he did shit like this. Weird manipulative bullshit that drove you crazy and made you do things like let a guy watch you shower. Or punch your little brother.

Or wear women’s underwear.

Fuck. That was _it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sorry.


	6. Saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, the whole reason this fic ever came into being. Enjoy.

The thing about Meulin was that she was the eternal child. You still remember the first time you saw her, a baby in a sling at her chest and a huge grin on her face. She had glitter on her skin and a bottle in her hand.

These days, bouncy little Meulin’s boy is two and the swell of her belly under her most definitely hemp top suggests that there’s another baby on the way. She hugs you and kisses both your cheeks. She calls you sweetums and gives you a drink as she ushers you inside. The air inside is thick with smoke already, and somewhere in it all you think you see a pair of lanky guys lounging on a couch. They’re laughing, and it sounds like snorting or honking. The Makaras.

You catch her arm and pull her aside. “Babe, I got a request.”

She looks all curious with wide green eyes and a little cat smile. “What is it, Cronus?”

You smile, leaning in close. “I need a little shipping help.”

Her eyes turn into emeralds when she hears that word, and you know that she’s going to help you.

* * *

You’ve never been this early to one of the Makara’s parties.

You sit in the arm chair, your leg hung over the side and a cool drink in your hand. There’s the two brothers on the couch and then Meulin who is quite literally dancing to some weird Japanese pop music around the room. The toddler is around, a kid with a tangled mass of black hair like a dandelion and who can’t seem to keep his balance. He follows his mother around, laughing and reaching for her. Again and again the kid falls on his ass, but never does he cry. Just laughs and looks up to his mother and she tells him how amazing he is dancing with her.

Slowly other guests show up. Damara’s first, in thigh high boots and the smallest miniskirt in existence. After her comes a woman with swirling tattoos you only know as Miss Maryam. She carries a handful of absinthe. Shortly after her comes an unlikely duo. Well, one half is unlikely. Meulin’s little sister shows up dragging some huge guy you have never fucking seen before.

You’d be interested but you’ve got plans and well, he looks like his hands could crush skulls. The last time you saw hands that big was on Kurloz. Big hands were not always the best thing. No. You liked the slender hands of a Strider.

You lose track of who comes in next, but the place fills up nicely. Then Dirk arrives.

He makes his rounds, kisses cheeks and pats plump rumps. Damara gives him a passionate kiss and he returns it with a grope under her skirt. She shares her blunt with him and then shoos him off. That’s when Meulin steps in. She comes up to his side and pets his face.

Dirk bends over and she whispers into ear. If she was a cat you could swear her tail would be twitching. He smiles and she points him off to a door. He gives her a little salute and walks off.

You tip your bottle up to your lips again to hide your smile. Meulin winks to you and you feel everything sliding into place, at last.

* * *

The room is dark. Dark is how you like it. You slip in and shut the door behind you.

There’s a square of light of a phone that reflects off triangle glasses. There’s the sound of skin on sheets and the light turns off. “Hey babe, about time for you to show up.” You hear the clatter of a phone on an end table and your heart leaps into your throat.

As he starts fumbling with the light, you strip, quickly. Off goes the shirt and shoes and pants. You straighten the moment before the light flicks on. It momentarily blinds you, but you keep yourself as relaxed as possible, thumbs hooked into the lining of those fucking lacy panties.

Dirk’s lounging on the bed, propped up by one elbow, missing his shirt again. He lifts his glasses with his fingertip and gives a low, admiring whistle. “Dang.”

Your heart beats again. You didn’t even realize it had stopped. You take a slow step forward, “Just figured since you gave them to me, you should see that they fit.”

“Yeah,” he says, “ _Dang._ ”

You turn your hips left and then right. His eyes follow the movement. You have his entire focus. That, more than the soft cloth, more than the dark room, more than the beautiful arch of his body, makes your cock hard. You have Dirk’s attention. “You think they look good?”

“Better than,” He breathes, sitting up more, leaning forward some, “Look at you. Fucking hell Cronus. That fits you far better than I thought.”

“Fits like a glove.” You run your hand over your crotch. His eyes trace the motion and you feel a shiver run up your spine. “Glad you think so too.” There’s a heartbeat of silence and you, with hands that shake just a little, start bending over, reaching for your pants. “Anyway. Now that you’ve seen, I have a party to return to.”

He’s still as death, watching you as you pick up your clothes, watching like he doesn’t believe you. You pull on your shirt and he stays quiet. It’s only as you start slipping on your pants that Dirk roars into life. He comes scrambling off the bed and grabs ahold of you. He throws you against the wall bodily, winding you, surprising you, and kisses your mouth like a savage.

It’s teeth and tongue. It’s hard and wet and hot. It’s needy. It’s perfection.

He pulls back and he’s breathing heavy. “Don’t you dare tease me anymore. Not after months.”

“Tease you?” His body is hard and warm under your touch. It’s the perfect surface to run your fingers down. “Tease _you?_ You’re the tease.”

He leans in, right into your face, his mouth a breath from yours, “I fucked your little brother to get you to break, Cronus. Fucked him again and again just so you would crack and it took you until today to do so.”

“I didn’t crack,” You hiss back at him, “You did. You are the one who lunged off the bed like a rabid dog.”

His hold on your shirt tightens, he twists the two of you around and shoves you ahead of him until the back of your knees hit the bed. “Only because you showed up in this.” He abandons his grip of your shirt and pulls at your pants that you’ve got hanging open around your hips. He leans forward and kisses you again, a searing, almost painful kiss that has your lip between his teeth. Using that to shove you forward, he removes your pants again and throws them off the bed.

“I only showed up in this because you gave it to me to wear! You’re the pervert who wants to see a dude in lingerie!”

This makes him pause. He tilts his head to the side. He leans in. His hands slide up the fishnet over your skin and his fingertips stroke along the top line of the stockings. “Not just a dude,” he says, his voice deep with an emotion that makes you want to groan aloud. “You.”

“So putting Eridan in a pair of stockings.”

“Not-so-dry dry-run,” Dirk says. You can see how deep he’s breathing. His ribs are prominent and when he lifts his arms up to work off your shirt, you think you catch a line of some tattoo on his side. He throws that useless cloth aside as well and then pins you down to the bed with his hands on your shoulders and one knee between your legs. You just stare at each other for a long time, neither one of you doing anything but breathe.

Slowly, you reach up and pull his glasses off his face. You put them as far out of reach as you can. His eyes are so orange. So unbelievably orange. Like amber, like the sun, brilliant and hard to stare directly into. “Dirk,” you whisper.  You don’t have air for anything louder.

His eyes flick up from your mouth to your own. You see something you never thought you ever would.

Dirk blushes.

“I--,” he begins. “It’s-,” You see his throat move as he swallows. You can see everything so clearly. The few strands of hair that falls against his forehead. The crinkle around his eyes  as he makes this confused expression. The way that, very briefly, his teeth bite into his lower lip.

You reach your hand up and touch his cheek reverently. “Different.”

He nods. He leans into your touch. “Oh fuck me, but it feels,” that impossible blush deepens, “special.”

“Well,” you don’t know how you’re breathing, let alone talking. “I can definitely fuck you.”

A smile cuts across his face, obliterating the blush and filling those wondrous, dark-orange eyes with white hot lust. Your body immediately reacts by arching up your hips and sucking in an eager breath. “Yeah,” he leans in. “You can.” His lips are almost on yours. “And not only that.” You can feel him smiling. “You’re going to get to.”

It’s a match to gasoline. It’s a spark to dryer lint. It’s the flipping of a switch to create a complete circuit. You grab him around the shoulders and around the middle and he collapses on you like a star going nova, all white hot heat and heavy pressure. His mouth is on yours, on your neck, on your collarbone, a hot circle with a ring of teeth biting you over and over. His narrow hips drop down, shoving your legs open to grind hard-on behind jeans to hard-on behind silk.

You arch up from the bed because there’s nothing you want there. Everything you want, everything you need is in the body on top of yours, tearing at you with fingers and teeth and burning you alive. He gets his teeth at your throat and you find that his hips aren’t moving hard enough, fast enough.

You let him have your throat, submit to him, while at the same time you push up with one arm and arch your hips. Rolling him over, you work one hand down between the two of you and get his pants open. No boxers. Oh you could kiss him. Better yet, you’ll fuck him. You shove them down hard and get a good handful of his cock. He’s hard and dripping and the sound he makes when you squeeze him puts stars behind your eyelids.

The two of you manage to get him out of his pants and he’s finally fucking naked beneath you. You’ve been dreaming about this for so long that you pull away from his breath-stealing kisses to lick down his chest. You worship him with your fingertips and your mouth. He groans under your ministrations.

You discover the tattoo under his arm. It’s small and purple and the fucking Aquarius symbol. You kiss it reverently. Dirk laughs at you but you don’t even fucking care. You never noticed this. You never knew it was here. Where the hell did it come from? You were going to have to return the favor somehow.

His skin tastes like salt and sweat and Dirk and you’ve never had anything taste better. You feel like you’re a starved man, a parched man, and he is the first meal you’ve seen in years. You look up from his hip and see the marks you’ve left and the just of his chin as he lets his head roll back and you change that imagery. Dirk isn’t a single meal. He’s a banquet thrown in your honor. A feast fit for a conqueror. He’s like those extravagant meals detailed in those British books, with honeyed hams and stuffed swan and fourteen different kinds of tarts.

He’s mana from heaven and you are going to never let him go. You’ve waited far too long for this.

His hand reaches for your head and he grabs a fistful of your hair. His orange eyes are on your face and he says, “Your adoration… has gone on… long enough.” He’s out of breath. _You_ made him that way. “Get the fucking…lube.”

“Where?” Of course he would be prepared for that. Even if he planned to fuck Eridan, or even if this was his plan. Hell, he probably didn’t even have to plan to bring any himself. This is Meulin’s room after all.

You pull yourself up and Dirk does this weird wriggling crawl to the nightstand. He pulls out a tube of lube and tosses it back over to you. You stare dumbly at it for a second and then look back to him. He’s fiddling with a pillow, getting it under his ass, and when he’s comfortable he stares at you. “Well?”

“It must be Christmas and my birthday,” you murmur as you crawl towards him. “And I must have been pretty fucking amazing in my past life if this is going to go how I think it’s going.”

Dirk grins. He actually grins. He spreads his legs and says, “Just because I put you in the lingerie doesn’t mean I want to be the pitcher.”

“God yes,” you kiss him hard as you kneel between his legs. You open the lube and pour it out and then pour out some more. Dirk puts his arms around your shoulders and digs his nails into your skin as you begin prepping him with slick fingers. The sounds he makes are priceless. You wish you could record them and put them in your music. Guaranteed boner every fucking time. You thank God and everything else that you have some good stamina and restraint because you’re hard as a rock and everything is only getting you more and more aroused.

Finally, Dirk hisses into your ear to get on with it already and you’re lining up your cock with his body.

For a moment, you stop. You can’t help it. You stop with the head of your dick right against his body and you look into his face. Is this the face that Eridan saw? Is this the one that Damara gives him? Is this the expression that Roxy see’s late at night? These flushed cheeks. This sheen of sweat. The bitten lip and eyes with pupils so wide they look like a black hole ringed in golden orange.

Or is this a face he’s given only to you?

“Dirk,” you lean your forehead against his. You breathe his air. You close your eyes.

“Cronus,” he moans your name. He shudders under your hands. You can feel him lick his lips. “Cronus, I-,” You realize instantly what he’s trying to say. “I-,”

You kiss him.

This one is different. It’s soft and tender and, dare you fucking even think it, loving. When you pull back, the expression he gives you is one you don’t understand. He’s smiling, just a little, but he looks like he’s broken. His eyes are dark and watery. You kiss him lightly again, on the edge of his lips, and then you say, “I know. Me too.”

He closes his eyes and his whole body quivers like a string on a guitar. You push in.

The sweetness is burned away by fierce need and violent desire. He digs his nails in so deep that your sweat stings on your back. He rocks against you, back against the bed, the whole thing starts shaking. The headboard keeps knocking into the wall but that is a distant sound to the one of Dirk moaning right in your ear.

You thrust into him for what feels like hours and seconds at the same time. He’s everything and everywhere and you can’t imagine anything better.

Then he starts pushing your chest and some quick rearranging puts you on your back and him splayed above you like a god. He moves up and down, hips grinding and cock bouncing with each self-inflicted thrust. You lift your knees to give him something to hold onto.

His head is back, baring his neck to you, just as he bares everything else. You stare up in awe of him. After a minute or two of dizzying wonder, you begin to hear him calling out something, begin to hear him calling out your name. You won’t hold out much longer now.

You never hear the door open. You only hear, very distantly, the dull thunk of glass on carpet.

It’s almost painful to turn your head away from Dirk. Just inside the door stands a girl you’ve never seen before, a skirt so short it makes you think, so very briefly, of Damara. But then you look up and that chest is as flat as yours and that face.

Opened mouth half covered by a hand and huge, pain filled, betrayal filled, eyes; you’d recognize that stupid expression on anyone. His eyes move away from Dirk as his cheeks turn a dark red. He meets your gaze.

You smirk. “Fuck off,” you growl at him.

When he doesn’t move, you repeat yourself, “Fuck off you whore!”

The sound he makes is strangled and lost in the sound of Dirk’s voice and the slamming of the door.

You turn back to your golden idol and worship him once more.

You don’t hold out for another minute.

* * *

You never noticed how well Dirk fits slightly under your arm with his head on your shoulder. You have, however, noticed before how nice he looks when he’s blowing smoke rings into the air. The two of you lay together, him in the nude and you mostly naked still, with a thin sheet drawn over you.

“Three outta four isn’t bad,” you say, taking the blunt from him and taking a drag.

“What are you talking about? I got all four.”

“I never saw the item you got from him, then,” you complain.

“You never said I had to show it to you. You’re lucky I have it on me tonight.”

“Eh?”

He wriggles out from under your arm and off the bed. He finds his pants and digs through the pockets.

When he returns, there’s a gold and purple ring on his finger. At first you think it’s not anything special. Eridan has tons of rings, most of them purple and gold, but this one.

This one has a golden anchor in the gemstone. This one has _United States Navy_ written around the purple stone. This one has _Eternally Your Maiden_ engraved on the inside, and you don’t even have to look.

“That’s my grandfather’s ring,” you say in awe. “He gifted that to Eridan when he died. How the fuck did you manage to get that?”

Dirk gives you a secretive smile. “I have my ways.” He kisses you. You roll your eyes and kiss back. After you two are done with this joint you’re probably going to have to put on your clothes and go back out to the party. But, for now, you have everything you could possibly need right the fuck here. You’d never say anything so sappy, but the way Dirk holds your hand and leans against you tells you he thinks the same.

Neither of you need to say what you already know.

* * *

[The Tragic End](http://archiveofourown.org/works/565227)

[The Happy End](http://archiveofourown.org/works/565230)

[The Questionable End](http://archiveofourown.org/works/565232)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> For future reference; Damara's quotes will be translated and put into the outtakes. mhm dont ask me when i'm getting those up ok. srsly its like five am ok


End file.
